


Mather's Treaty

by wolfiefics



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action, Gen, Ghosts, Hogwarts Forbidden Forest, almost demonic really, hogsmeade residents, no students, witch hunts of many centuries ago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 06:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19824643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfiefics/pseuds/wolfiefics
Summary: A 16th century witch hunting madman begins haunting Hogsmeade and Hogwarts. Can the professors and residents of both communities save their way of life or will a long dead madman wipe them off the face of the planet?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't rightly remember when I wrote this. Sometime between 2005-2007, I would imagine. It's a mystery/adventure, pseudo-horror type story, not my usual style at all. I posted it on a few archives at the time of writing and forgot about it. I've recently been dusting off my old stuff and posting it to AO3. I would appreciate kudos and comments. If you find any glaring mistakes, by all means, let me know.

Prologue: Insanus Omnis Furere Credit Ceteros  
(Every madman thinks all others are insane)

" _Stupefy!_ "

There was a flash of bright light and stunning pain as farming implements like hoes, pitchforks, and scythes being brandished as weapons were dropped on or around their wielders, who screamed with the pain of their injuries. The rest of the mob mindless, and unmindful, of their surroundings. The frenzy of fear was their master now, not reason.

Two forms continued to run, entering the woods at a dead run, pushing through the undergrowth, heedless of the bramble and thorns. The couple were fleeing for their lives, they knew, and though nothing would stop death from coming after them, they were determined that death would not have an easy hunt.

"I will stay the mob," panted the man. His wife clung to his arm, panting as well, but her head was shaking in emphatic denial. "One of us has to warn the others. Go." He pushed her away urgently. When she budged no further, merely staring at him with wide and terrified eyes, he pointed in the direction they were running. "GO!"

She pressed a hard kiss on his mouth and turned to run. He watched her until the darkness swallowed her completely and then turned to face their pursuers. Their hunters were late in arriving, no doubt detained by the obstacles provided by the Forbidden Forest, but he had no doubt they would come.

Mobs were dangerous in any circumstance, but hatred and fear made them especially dangerous. Though the lone man knew that his people were powerful, they were not powerful to take on a whole belief structure determined to eradicate his kind from the planet.

He drew in a deep breath and jumped into the fray. He hoped that his sacrifice would not be in vain, that his beloved wife could warn their people in time to make a difference.

* * *

"He has incited a mob!" came an anguished scream, reverberating through the quiet stillness of the little Scottish town of Hogsmeade. Heads poked from the small houses and huts of the people of Hogsmeade. There were screams and cries from inside homes and the small village was alive with activity mere moments later. Children were hidden, the most powerful positioned themselves in concealed places from which they could attack but not be attacked without difficulty. Someone was dispatched to the castle up the hill to warn the children and adults in residence there of the impending danger.

No one had to ask who 'he' was, for it was well known. Rufus Mather, notorious witch hunter, was well known to the magical community as a zealot and butcher. Somehow he had discovered a way to counter many a witch or wizard's ability to beat the burning at the stake, the drowning in the river and the drawing and quartering. When Mather was involved in a real witch or wizard's execution, magic rarely worked to help the victim. Rumors abounded how the zealot accomplished this but no one had concrete ideas or proof. This, more than anything, inspired terror when the name Rufus Mather was spoken.

The huge mob reached the outskirts of Hogsmeade, weapons and torches held high over their heads, the bloodlust gleaming in their eyes. Cries of outrage and vengeance spilled forth from their lips, inspired by the invigorated preaching of Mather only a couple hours earlier.

The man himself was unimpressive as he strode ahead of his peasant army. His balding head, long beard and insanely bright blue eyes topped a stature that was less than regal. Rufus Mather was a short, compact and pudgy man. There seemed to be little muscle on him, yet he was a powerful man in other ways. His presence alone was mesmerizing. Men and women blindly followed where he led. When he spoke people vowed to die for his beliefs, whether it went against what they believed themselves. His charisma was so strong that no one disbelieved what he said, so convincing and confident was he.

No one saw the zealous insanity in him. Those that did lived short life spans, eliminated by Mather's followers as a heretic, a witch, the ultimate evil. No one opposed Rufus Mather and lived to tell of it.

Hogsmeade was now a fortress without visible walls. Mather's mob could see no living being except an occasional chicken or dog roaming the street. Mather himself surveyed the scene with the merest twitch of a smile on his lips, his eyes glinting in satisfaction.

"See!" he suddenly boomed to his followers. "They flee from us, the righteous! If they are not witches, wizards and beasts of the Devil, why do they hide? Our pure minds would have detected their innocence, their God-given purity if they are not! Yet here we see, do we not? They show their guilt by not showing themselves!"

The crowd rumbled its agreement. Shouts of "find them" and "burn the Devil's village" erupted in the crowd, the catalyst in making the mob surge forward like a tidal wave and wash over the village. Flames licked the sky within minutes, casting a red/orange glow on the scene. Shadows danced demonically as the mob moved to and fro, seeking their intended victims.

There was an occasional flash of green, blue and white light from discharged wands. There were occasional screams from captured witches and wizards and from targeted mob members.

"Find them! Kill the servants of Satan!" bellowed Mather in maniacal glee. He danced on the edge of the town, watching in masochistic triumph the deaths of those witches or wizards found by his mindless mob. Finally the fanatical gleam dulled from his eyes and he drew from his side a book that he carried.

Mather's Treaty In the Purging of The Morning Star's Followers it was called, or Mather's Treaty. Those of magical ability often cringed in disgust at the book's mention. Within it, many reckoned, were words of hate and death so strong that even the Unforgivable Curses could not be compared as its equal. It was said that at each attack he incited, Mather would then stand at the witch or wizard's house or execution site and read from it. What exactly was read, no one really knew, for he spoke in a language that no one understood. It was said by non-magical people that it was the divine language spoken in Heaven. Magical people claimed it was the rantings of a lunatic. All agreed the words held a power of some sort.

Mather's voice droned on, becoming frenetic as he read, then suddenly his voice dropped in pitch and stopped altogether. With a satisfied look around, he nodded once and looked up the hill at the castle perched in the distance. Before only he had seen it; now his followers gasped in horror as a huge many towered castle appeared in the parting mist.

"There!" thundered Mather. "There you see the Devil's earthly residence! Inside are the hidden devil's future disciples! They must be destroyed!"

The frenzied crowd merely stared in abject terror, unsettled by the huge castle that appeared from nowhere. 

Angry that the mob didn't immediately charge to attack the castle as he desired, Mather began to badger and abuse them into motion. The people moved but not in the direction that he wanted. They retreated quickly, almost crushing each other in their haste to depart.

"No!" screamed Mather, enraged, the zealous glint alighting in his blue eyes once again. He grabbed a nearby farmer and harshly turned him around. "Kill them! They must die!"

The farmer's fear was palpable yet his sense of self-preservation, heightened by his own ignorance and belief in superstition, was stronger than his desire to follow Mather's orders. He shook his head and shouted his denial. 

Angry beyond sense, Mather grabbed the farmer's scythe from the man's lax grip and sliced through the farmer's stomach. Insanely emboldened by the death, Mather waded into the crowd, slicing here and there. The mob, sensing a new and dangerous element among them, turned on Mather in blind fury. When they finished and fled the scene in mindless haste, they left Mather's broken body lying beside his trampled book.

When the surviving residents of Hogsmeade emerged with the daybreak from their hiding places, they stood around Mather's body, unable to bring themselves to rid their street of it. Their fear was great of Mather, but even more so was it of the book.

Finally the headmaster of the school within the castle's walls apparated the deceased Mather to a spot within the forest just beyond the castle and the village. He buried the body deep and cursed the ground in the hopes that whatever impurities tainted the soul of Rufus Mather would never be freed. The book was taken to the school and kept within a vault in the headmaster's chambers. 

Each successive headmaster at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was shown the book's location but none ever dared to open it. Each one heard of the story of Rufus Mather and his Treaty and none wanted to possible unleash something so horrible upon man again, be he wizard or not.

Only one man dared to open it up several centuries later. He flipped through the yellowed pages with a curious twinkle in his blue eyes. He closed the book with a shrug and placed it back in the wooden box it was stored in and closed the vault once more. It seemed harmless to him physically, but legend and rumor often carried more weight than anything else factual or logical.

Albus Dumbledore swore like his predecessors that the book would never emerge from the darkened vault and see the light of day. While Dumbledore believed the legend that if the book saw the sun's rays Mather would return was merely silly superstition he was wise enough to know that you never tempted Fate.

You just never knew what Fate might do to throw your world awry.


	2. It Was On A Dark Dark Night

Remus Lupin swallowed the potion with a grimace. It was foul-tasting and it always gave him a headache. His brown eyes darted to the room's other occupant, a tall, grim-looking man with a sallow complexion and a bad disposition. "Did you drink it all?" Severus Snape rasped in his low voice. Remus nodded as he brushed a shock of brown hair from his eyes. "Wouldn't want any accidents, now would we?" Snape's voice was coldly mocking and Remus could only inwardly sigh. He had nothing against Snape, really, other than the man was a jerk but there were days when the urge to send Snape flying out a window was strong.

"I'll be fine, Severus. Lock the door on your way out, would you?" Remus gave a derisive smile. "We definitely wouldn't want my fate wished on anyone else." Snape's face hardened and he turned sharply on his heel, slamming the door behind him when he exited the room. Remus heard the lock click and sighed again.

He understood perfectly Snape's fear of him, especially on this night. Being a werewolf on the night of a full moon had that effect on people. Fortunately, with the development of the Wolfbane potion, Remus was no longer a monster every full moon; he was merely a wolf with a bit more human awareness than a normal wolf. He would curl up, nose to tail tip, and force himself to sleep through the evening, awaiting the sun's morning rays to transform him to a man again. Remus would then go through the rest of the month as if he didn't turn into a potentially dangerous creature every full moon, desperate to live a normal, fur-free life.

Unfortunately, some of those who knew of his problem would not let him get away with living a normal life. Snape topped the list. 

The sun hadn't quite set and Remus settled down in the office chair, staring around his chambers with interest. His senses always sharpened before the change and this would be the first time he shifted while at Hogwarts as an adult. Well, that wasn't quite true, he reminded himself. He taught at Hogwarts before but that one year had a surreal quality to it, as if it happened to someone else and he merely watched everything from a distance. So many things were revealed to him. He met Harry Potter, the son of one of Remus' best school friends James. He learned that another best schoolmate, Sirius Black, wasn't guilty of setting up Harry's parents for the dark wizard Lord Voldemort. Remus also learned that the real traitor among them was in fact his third best schoolmate, Peter Pettigrew, who now served as one of Voldemort's lackeys. It was disheartening, remembering the bright-eyed boy Peter had once been, that they all had been in fact. Such was life, Remus knew. Now Sirius was on the run from the law that saw him as an escaped prisoner. 

And Remus? Well, he was trying to keep his head above the water and the wolf from the door, so to speak. 

The sun's rays vanished over the Scottish hills surrounding Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and Remus took a deep breath in preparation. It was supposed to be a clear night, according to the astronomy teacher, Professor Vector, so the change would happen very soon now.

The pain began in his spine and his brain, working its way down the nerves and muscles. His fingers tingled, as did his toes. The end of his nose went numb and he could feel it and his ears begin to shift. They elongated, and in the case of ears, moved entirely to a position on his rapidly shifting head. Fur thrust through the pores of his skin, burning and stinging. Remus kept his mouth clamped tightly shut. As intense as this pain was it was nothing compared to the internal shifting that would be taking place soon - 

\- now.

"AAAAUUUURRGHHH!" he screamed, doubling over as his insides began to tense, cramp and spasm. He fell to the floor, whimpering, wishing for it to just hurry. The potion seemed to have dulled his body to the pain somewhat, but it was never enough to completely block out the pain of a full physical transformation. Claws literally sprouted from his fingertips as they curled into paws. A sharp biting sting near his buttocks told him the tail was forming. He curled tightly into a ball as much as he was physically able, human whimpers turning into canine whining.

The pain began to lessen and he cautiously opened his eyes. His vision was no longer in color but in black, grey and white, but he could see much clearer in the dark. His last human thought was that there were some perks to the wolf form but not enough to make him like being a werewolf.

The wolf got to trembling four feet and tentatively stretched sore muscles. Ears flicked one way and then another, tracking down the sources of sounds. The black nose twitched and nostrils enlarged, identifying the familiar and unfamiliar smells of the office chamber. Remus the wolf paced a few times, stopped to scratch an ear and began to explore the office in a curious fashion.

The wolf froze behind the desk when a key scratch on the door lock. The door opened and the wolf tensed. Something inside the wolf knew that this wasn't right. The door wasn't supposed to open; he was supposed to be a prisoner here. He knew that with absolute certainty.

"Remus?" came a whisper and the wolf growled softly. "Oy, he's transformed." The voice and the smell was familiar but the wolf instinctively did not trust. Humans were always bad news, though he wasn't exactly sure why that was.

"Remus?" This voice was softer, higher in pitch. The smell was feminine. The wolf backed up until he was beneath the desk. He no longer growled, unwilling to give away his position. "Maybe we should just go."

"Hermione," the first voice, male and low-toned, sounded exasperated. "They said the potion would make him docile."

"Did that growl sound docile to you?" came the female voice almost waspishly. The wolf tensed. That tone was not friendly. He growled again. "See?"

"Keep it down and keep it friendly. Remember, he's a wolf now," came a new voice, one the wolf recognized. This was the voice of a friend. The wolf slowly crept out from the desk and peered through the darkness toward the door. Four figures were standing there, one larger than the other three. "Like any canine, he senses distrust, uneasiness and fear, as well as confidence and friendliness. No harsh tones and don't be afraid. It will make him defensive."

There was a sigh and a grunt but the wolf wasn't paying attention. That voice was one he knew and trusted, though he couldn't say why. He crept forward, belly scraping the floor submissively until he entered the shaft of light from the open doorway. The smaller human, the female from her scent, gave a soft gasp of surprise and tried to take a step back but her three male companions wouldn't let her.

The smaller male squatted down and looked the wary wolf in the eyes. "Hey, Moony, it's Harry." He slowly held up a collar and a leash. "You want to go outside? Surely you don't want to be cooped up in here."

The wolf recognized the word 'outside' and his tail gave two hopeful thumps on the worn Oriental rug that covered most of the stone floor of the office. The adult male slowly walked toward the wolf, talking to him in a low tone. "There's a good boy, Rem-er, Moony. You remember Albus, don't you? Here now, there's no need to be frightened of me," Albus Dumbledore soothed when the huge wolf backed away a step at his approach. The wolf paused and watched the old wizard with a tilted head. "Yes, you remember me, don't you? Such a good boy. I don't remember your coat being so handsome, Moony. We must take a picture of you sometime in wolf form so that you'll see what a handsome boy you are."

The words meant nothing to the wolf but he recognized the tone of friendship. Yes, his instincts in trusting this human were correct. If this human could be trusted, he could probably trust the other humans as well; he'd keep an eye on them just in case though.

"What do you think, Hermione? Doesn't he have a beautiful coat?" Dumbledore urged the girl toward the wolf with an outstretched hand. The girl tentatively reached out, clasped it and walked forward, squatting down to the wolf's level after a brief pause.

Hermione Granger stared into the golden brown eyes of the wolf that was her former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. She surveyed his lush coat and then smiled tremulously. "Yes, he's a very handsome wolf, Headmaster. Harry, Ron," she turned carefully to the other two in the doorway. "Come see."

As the boys drew closer, Remus' human self shoved to the fore. 'This is Harry.' The wolf stood up from his crouched position and, tail wagging, approached the shorter boy almost happily. Harry Potter gave a soft laugh and reached a hand down, only to get it licked in canine fashion. He sunk his hands into the gray-brown coat and scratched. Ron carefully followed suit. The wolf gave a rumbling grunt of approval.

The four humans laughed, relieved at being accepted. Harry placed the leather collar around the wolf's neck, careful not to get it too tight. A tag that said “Moony – Hogwarts” glittered in the dim candlelight as it dangled from the collar. The three smaller humans urged the wolf from the office and down the hall. Once the wolf figured out what was going on, Harry had a devil of a time holding onto the leash.

Snape watched the procession go down the hall with a sneer. Dumbledore paused long enough to grin mischievously at the Potions master before continuing on. At the front entrance, though, the headmaster halted. "Can you three handle him alright?" They nodded eagerly. "If you have any trouble, go find Hagrid and then come and get me. Hagrid will know what to do right off." Again the three students nodded and allowed the wolf to drag them outside.

The wolf was ecstatic. He was outside; he wouldn't be cooped up indoors. Why this was a privilege the animal part of Remus Lupin did not know, he just knew it was special. Harry, Ron and Hermione walked the wolf around the grounds, laughing at his very dog-like attitudes; each remarked that they never thought a wolf would act like a domestic dog. They expected wilder behavior, but the wolf merely prowled the grounds, checking for scent and sound, peering into the darkness with ears upright and alert.

As they neared the Forbidden Forest, a large grove of forestry not far from Hogwarts that housed many strange and fantastical magical creatures that was normally off-limits to students, the wolf tensed and his hackles rose. Both Harry and Hermione froze, unsure what to do. Ron missed the action and walked two steps past the animal before coming to a halt as well.

Suddenly the wolf lunged toward the forest, his growls becoming ferocious, his teeth snapping and flashing in the moonlight. Harry clung onto the leash but he was still being drug by the wolf despite his heels digging into the ground. Ron grabbed the leash as well, but it only served to drag him along with Harry. 

Harry gritted his teeth and ground out, "Hermione, go for Hagrid. If Moony gets loose and attacks something - " 

He didn't get to finish the sentence as the wolf gave another lunge that nearly pulled the leash from the boys' grasp. Hermione spun around and made a dead run for the gamekeeper's ramshackle home not far away. The barking of Hagrid's boarhound, Fang, could be heard erupting inside.

"Moony, please, no, bad wolf!" Harry clutched the leash but the wolf's powerful form drug him and Ron to the edge of the forest. "No, Moony! You can't go in there!" The boy's voice turned pleading and for a moment it seemed as if the animal was going to subside and comply. With one huge powerful lunge, though, the wolf leaped forward, snapping the leash several inches from the collar. Snarling and growling the wolf disappeared into the Forbidden Forest mere moments before Hagrid and Hermione skidded to a halt behind Harry and Ron.

"Did 'e go in?" asked Hagrid with deceptive calm. Harry only nodded. "'e'll be alright, Harry," soothed Hagrid. "You kids go up to the castle and tell Dumbledore that this wasn't such a great idea after all. I'll find that wolf, don't you worry."

The three students paused a moment and then ran all the way to the school's front entrance, up the steps, through the front hall and straight into Dumbledore, Snape and the head of their house, Professor McGonagall. "Did he get away?" asked Dumbledore needlessly. It was obvious, as they seemed to be missing the wolf and Harry still clutched what was left of the leash in his hand. 

"Hagrid went after him," panted Hermione, her brown hair in wild disarray. Harry could only nod numbly, staring at Dumbledore. Ron had turned back to the front door, staring at it and rubbing his upper arms in an absent manner.

"It's all right," consoled Dumbledore. "He'll be okay. I'm surprised he took off though. Did he find a rabbit?" The headmaster seemed amused.

Ron shook his head, diverting his attention from the door and back to the adults. "No sir, I don't know what it was. He began to growl and snarl at something in the Forest then he lunged, the leash broke and he disappeared. It was like he was going to attack something."

Dumbledore seemed to have frozen a moment and both Snape and McGonagall gave him odd looks. "Headmaster?" McGonagall prodded when Dumbledore made no reaction. "Should we go after him? It will be morning when he turns back into a human and he might be lost."

"Plus he has that collar on," snickered Snape lightly. "We wouldn't want him to choke."

The headmaster seemed to shake himself from his trance and without a word ran to the door. He stopped when he saw Harry, Ron and Hermione following. "No, go back to bed. We'll find him." The three students looked at each other and opened their mouths to protest but Dumbledore stopped them. "No. Bed. Now." Everyone was surprised at the brusque tone but Harry, Ron and Hermione reluctantly complied.

Snape and McGonagall exchanged surprised looks. Dumbledore turned to them. "I want you both to go help Hagrid. Get Remus out of there as quickly as you can. I cannot believe I forgot what day it was. I don't normally believe in that superstitious nonsense," he continued muttering to himself, "but werewolves have an enhanced sensitivity to the paranormal. I don't know why I didn't think of it."

"Headmaster?" asked Snape dumbly.

"I'll be there shortly." Dumbledore spun on heels and literally ran out of the hall and in the direction of his office. Snape and McGonagall traded puzzled glances but did as they were bid. Dumbledore always had reasons for everything; they would find out this one once their task was done.

The two professors reached the forest entrance near Hagrid's house to find the half-giant standing there with a perplexed expression. "What's wrong, Hagrid?" demanded McGonagall, her normally pinched expression turning even more sour. "Where's Professor Lupin?"

Hagrid shrugged. "Can't find a trace of 'im anywhere," the man rumbled. "I could follow 'is tracks about five meters into the forest and then they just up and disappeared." Both professors stared at him in disbelief. "I'm telling you it was like 'e just apparated from the last spot 'is paw prints were at."

"That's not possible," Snape exploded. 

"See fer yerself if'n you don't believe me, Professor Snape," gestured Hagrid toward the forest. "I left a lantern there at the spot, but you know I can't see it from 'ere." Both teachers whirled back to the forest, peering into the inky blackness before them. There was no trace of a lantern beaming light back to them.

The three of them stared at the forest with stumped expressions until Dumbledore joined them. "I see we have problems," the older wizard commented idly. "Very well. I shall deal with this. No offense, but I might be the only one that can. Go up to the castle with Severus and Minerva, Hagrid, and take Fang with you. The forest isn't safe tonight and your house is too close to it for my peace of mind, old friend." 

Hagrid grumbled but did as he was told.

Dumbledore stood at the forest's edge and walked in several steps. He could make out the vague outline of light from the lantern that Hagrid had left. He took out his wand and murmured softly, " _Lumos._ " The wand's tip burst into bright light, flooding the area a bit more than the lantern but not by much. Dumbledore picked up the lantern and began to walk into the heart of the forest.

It was strangely silent, no noises from animals who were awake in the evening hours. Disturbed, Dumbledore continued to press on. Normally he would have gone back to his office and researched the situation, trying to figure it out from safe distance, but a friend was out there, possibly in grave danger. A danger that Dumbledore had not taken seriously. It disturbed the old wizard that he ignored a potential threat to the school and its residents when other headmasters had taken precautions.

"You are an arrogant old fool, Albus," the wizard remonstrated himself before pausing to try and locate sounds of the lost werewolf. He heard none and began walking forward again. It had been sometime since he wandered into the Forbidden Forest and he wasn't sure he remembered all the paths. He had not gone another ten steps when a piercing howl split the heavy silence. 

Fear was laced in the howl and the sound sent shivers up Dumbledore's spine. Worry for Remus' safety superseded any need for self-preservation and Dumbledore ran deeper into the inky darkness. His wand and the lantern cast a very small circle of light around him and Dumbledore prayed that his memory was not faulty as he followed the path to the reason the forest had been called Forbidden.

Dumbledore ran for what seemed like a good fifteen minutes. A stitch formed in his side, burning his insides but he pressed on. The forest echoed with the yelps and hollers of the terrified wolf and spurred Dumbledore deeper into the wooded area. As he could hear the yelps growing closer and closer, they suddenly stopped. Dumbledore stopped as well, daring not to breath as he tried to identify where to go next in his search for the lost werewolf.

One low howl weaved through the trees to Dumbledore's right and the older wizard dropped the lantern on the path, pushing through the undergrowth toward the fading sound. He burst into a small clearing and tripped over a soft, still form on the ground. He regained his footing and spun to look down.

There lying on a mossy bed of grass lay the wolf, its bloody muzzle and chest gleaming grotesquely in the shaft of moonlight that filtered over the body.


	3. The Dawn of Darkness

Dawn's bright light broke through the trees and still Dumbledore had not returned. Professor McGonagall quickly organized a search of the grounds with the older students and staff. Snape, McGonagall and Hagrid shored up their courage to enter the forest but they before stumbling across Dumbledore in a small clearing a surprisingly short distance from the main path and the forest's edge. The old wizard was hunched over the shivering body of Remus Lupin.

Madam Pomfrey was quickly summoned and when she arrived, Pomfrey took one look at both men and began clucking sympathetically. Both seemed to be in shock. For Remus it was to be expected. Transformations like the kind that werewolves were subjected to was always a traumatic experience for them; what could have likewise affected Dumbledore, however, was anyone's guess.

Snape and McGonagall gingerly pulled the dazed headmaster to his feet. His wand was grasped tightly in his hand and his watery blue eyes, normally twinkling and kind, were glazed and distant. Hagrid picked up Remus without a word, carrying him to the castle and straight to the infirmary. Students and staff alike crowded around the headmaster in concern but Pomfrey waved them away. Dumbledore broke from his trance-like state as they entered the foyer of the castle.

"Minerva, join me in my office," Dumbledore said in a hoarse voice. Pomfrey, Snape and Filius Flitwick, the Charms professor, all made to protest but Dumbledore gave them a hard glance that silenced them immediately. McGonagall silently obeyed the request and followed Dumbledore into his office.

Dumbledore sat in his chair and began to shake. When McGonagall made a motion to go to him, he held up a hand that halted her. "No." He gestured to a chair opposite his desk. "Please sit. It's a long story."

"You should be in the infirmary, Albus," she said after a moment. "You are in shock."

"I have a right to be," the older wizard said after a moment's pause. "It's difficult to explain, Minerva. I have made a grave error in judgment and must be held accountable. Consider this my punishment." The dignified witch gave a snort of disbelief. He leaned back with a sigh and slowly began to systematically relax his muscles as he spoke. "You have heard the legend of Rufus Mather?" he asked finally.

McGonagall stiffened in her chair and sniffed disdainfully. "Superstitious nonsense," she exclaimed.

Dumbledore nodded tiredly. "That is what I thought until last night, Minerva. That is my error." McGonagall eyed him in wary astonishment. "There are things about Rufus Mather that you do not know, however. Only the headmasters of Hogwarts know. As you will be my successor I see no reason why you shouldn't know now."

"What? What should I know?" she demanded, standing up and beginning to pace. "And what does this have to do with Moony running off from Potter, Weasley and Granger?"

Dumbledore gave a half-smile of exhaustion. "Sit down, Minerva, and I will tell you - "

The door to his office burst open and Snape stormed in, wide-eyed and his robes askew. "Headmaster! Madame Rosmerta is here from the village. Something is wrong!"

McGonagall didn't think the exhaustion emanating from Dumbledore could get worse, but it did. In fact, his whole body sagged as if in defeat. "I tried to stop it," the old wizard whispered almost brokenly. "I thought perhaps I delayed it enough that it wouldn't make it to the village but I -” Dumbledore resolutely pulled himself together and pushed himself from his chair. "Let us go see the damage."

Snape's cauldron black eyes begged for a clue to the headmaster's odd behavior but McGonagall could only shrug, having none except a barmy legend told to frighten children of magical families. 

"Ah, Filius," said Dumbledore tiredly when they entered the Great Hall and he spied the tiny Charms professor calming a few alarmed students. "You are in charge of the school while Severus, Minerva and I go down to the village. We should not be long. “ Flitwick gave an uncertain nod and Dumbledore tried to smile in return.

Snape, McGonagall and Dumbledore exited the castle to find a distraught and terrified Madam Rosmerta, the tavern owner in Hogsmeade, standing in the front drive. Her eyes were wild and her body was covered with scratches and bruises. As soon as she saw Dumbledore she began to babble.

"Just came out of nowhere, Professor! None of our charms or defensive spells seemed to affect it. It went after Chester Merchant first and then swept through the Shrieking Shack. The old place is still standing but just barely. It went from house to house and you could hear people screaming. It came into the tavern, we was just closing up - " Her voice broke off into an hysterical sob.

McGonagall put a comforting arm around the sobbing woman's shoulder and glanced at Snape, whose eyes narrowed at Dumbledore's saddened expression. "Come," Dumbledore said finally. "We need to see and make plans."

McGonagall helped the distraught witch and Snape trailed behind, his black eyes darting this way and that alertly. As they approached the village outskirts Dumbledore drew out his wand. Snape and McGonagall followed suit. Snape grasped his so tightly his knuckles turned white. Though he did not know what was going on, his keen senses told him it was nothing good. Both Snape and McGonagall’s eyes bulged as they surveyed the destruction in the small village.

Hogsmeade was the only village in Britain completely (and secretly) populated by witches and wizards. Hidden by magic from Muggles, or non-magical people, it was rare that Hogsmeade had disturbances of any kind. In fact the last time it was so disturbed was when Voldemort was at the height of his power more than a decade ago.

Several of the houses were shaken to the foundation; cracks in the brick walls and the charmingly quaint thatched roofs were singed. Several buildings were smoking, looking burnt at the edges and in patches on the roofs. The three teachers could see the Shrieking Shack on the far end of town, looking more dilapidated than normal. One of the taverns, The Three Broomsticks, looked as if someone had attempted to tear it down. Boards hung loosely from the sides and shingles dangled from the once sturdy roof. The front windows were shattered; in fact, most of the windows in Hogsmeade were shattered, glass littering the ground of the tiny main street.

Dumbledore turned to the now silent Madam Rosmerta, grasping her wrists and forcing her to look at him. "Rosmerta," he said urgently, forcing her attention from her wrecked establishment to him. "Did whatever that was last night make any sounds? Did it say anything?"

She nodded emphatically. "It moaned like some demented lost soul," she cried. "It kept crying over and over 'devil's children', 'servants of Satan'." She took a shuddering gasp of breath and expelled it. "It kept calling for its treaty. I don't know what it meant, Dumbledore, I swear I don't –“ She broke into anguished sobs again, falling to her knees.

"Severus." Dumbledore drew his potions master to his side while McGonagall crouched protectively over Rosmerta. "I want you to apparate to the Ministry of Magic. Find me a book in their special archive called the Malleus Maleficarum. Bring it back here immediately. I will be back at the castle. I need to speak with Remus."

Snape's face paled at the words Malleus Maleficarum and he said uncertainly, "Lupin will not recall anything from last night, Headmaster, he rarely does."

Dumbledore nodded. "I know, but he often has vague snatches of memory and emotional recollections. We need everything we can get."

Snape gave a nod, his heart sinking. "Why do I need to get that particular version of the book, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore gave his potions master a harsh look. "Just do as I say, Severus. I will explain it later. We don't have time for expressions of distaste. Lives hang in the balance. I have neglected my duties long enough." The headmaster paused a moment, ignoring the startled expression from his potions master. “If anyone at the Ministry asks, tell them we are handling the matter.”

Snape stiffened in surprise at the rebuke, and when Dumbledore finished his instructions, he gave a curt nod and strode determinedly toward the outskirts of Hogsmeade, where he would safely transport himself to London to accomplish his task.

"That was brusque," admonished McGonagall minutes later as the two of them headed back to the castle. Rosmerta began spreading word in the village that Dumbledore was working on the problem. That seemed to bolster the spirits of the townspeople, much to Dumbledore's discomfort. "I would not have wanted to go after that particular copy of that book either."

"I will apologize to him, of course, Minerva." Dumbledore looked about as he walked. "What you will be seeing, however, will be worse that horrible version of the Hammer of Witches."

McGonagall’s eyebrows arched high. "Worse?" she echoed. "That is not possible." 

Every witch and wizard grew up hearing of the atrocities committed to their kind and those innocent of having magical ability under the 'tutelage' of the Malleus Maleficarum, "The Witch-Hammer". The book was created in the late 15th century to guide witch-hunters in the identification, persecution, and punishment of witches and wizards. Though more often than not, the witch hunters’ actions had not harmed any witch or wizard, there were occasional times when magic had not saved lives of those actually ‘guilty’ of using magic. As always, though, the death toll of those without magical ability whatsoever weighed heavily on those that did indeed practice magic.

The particular copy that Dumbledore sent Snape to retrieve from the Ministry's special archive of magical objects was an 'enhanced' version, or rather cursed. It's magical properties defied many a magical spell used by true witches and wizards to deflect their persecutors from causing them harm. The mere presence of the book at a witch burning negated any spells the persecuted would have adminstered upon themselves to fool their accusers into believing the witch or wizard suffered their 'just punishment'. Finally stolen from a French Inquisitor who came to Scotland's shore in the mid-1700s with the last Royal Stuart, Bonnie Prince Charlie, the book was immediately placed within a secured vault at the Ministry in London. The only reason Mather's Treaty didn't sit along side it was that no witch or wizard, superstitious or not, could bear the thought of both books in the same room.

"You say you know the story of Rufus Mather?" Dumbledore asked Minerva as they walked back to the castle.

McGonagall nodded cautiously. "Yes. He was one of those witch hunters in the 16th century who swept through the countryside, hunting and killing our kind. He was inordinately successful. It is supposed he had 'inside help', as they say in modern terms."

Dumbledore gave a single nod. "Yes, that is the supposition. I know a bit more, however, as I will show you." They entered the castle and climbed the stairs once more to his office. Dumbledore took his wand and pointed it at one of the office walls. " _Concedo Magisterus Porta_."

The wall slid open, revealing a torch-lit passageway. McGonagall gaped a moment and then gathered herself to follow Dumbledore, who was already leading the way into the passage. “What is this?” she asked, startled when her voice echoed oddly in the short hallway.

“All the headmasters of Hogwarts are shown this room,” Dumbledore explained, his voice sounding distant despite the fact he was only four steps ahead of her. “It contains some of the most powerful and dangerous items known to our world.”

McGonagall emerged right behind Dumbledore in a large vault filled with various assorted and odd objects like doorknobs that rotated on their rounded ends continuously to books to mummies of every origin imaginable. In the corner, half-covered by a dustsheet, stood the familiar Mirror of Erised. She gawked a moment and then turned her attention back to the headmaster, who walked toward a cabinet.

“When I took over the position from Professor Dippet, he showed me a book. This book.” Dumbledore opened the cabinet, revealing a small box nestled among the cobwebs. It was the only unclean area in the entire vault. It had recently been disturbed, for fingerprints were visible in the dust covering the box. As Dumbledore didn’t seem surprised by the fingerprints visible, McGonagall reckoned that Dumbledore made them earlier when he’d disappeared.

Dumbledore unlocked the box and lifted the lid, revealing a surprisingly well-kept tome, it’s leather binding new-looking despite it’s obvious age. The only thing faded was the title scrawled on the cover.

“What does this have to do with what happened to Remus and Hogsmeade?” McGonagall asked, unable to take her eyes from the book.

Dumbledore heaved a sigh and picked the book up, opening the crisp, yellow, parchment pages carefully and flipping through to a specific page. “It seems that after his death, many things were revealed about Rufus Mather that he managed to conceal from his Muggle followers. His mother was a Squib who married a Muggle radical. Her distaste and bitterness transferred to her son, who it turned out, had the magical ability his mother lacked. Mather’s father died from an unknown bout of illness, leaving the boy with a mother who detested him. His own bitterness grew into an overwhelming hatred for wizards and witches. When he became involved in the radical religious movements of that era, it gave him a means to seek revenge upon our kind.”

“Oh dear,” said McGonagall faintly.

Dumbledore continued as if she had said nothing. “This book is the source of his persuasion, Minerva.” He handed her the book and she took it very reluctantly, hesitating before she looked down at the curly script. Her eyes widened as she read the words and flipped a page. “Yes,” he confirmed her forming realizations. “Each of these are spells, powerful spells, used against our kind and for Muggle use only.”

“The worst magic of any kind,” she murmured.

“Not the concept,” Dumbledore contradicted, “just the method in which they were used. Muggles are not helpless, as we know, and with the right knowledge they can easily destroy our fragile and carefully concealed world. This book, Minerva,” he tapped the book she held in her hand, “would give them that knowledge.”

She closed it with a snap. “So this is what - whatever that thing was last night - was looking for?” she queried with narrowed eyes.

Dumbledore nodded sadly. “Like most haunts, Mather’s spirit seeks something. Its always been believed that it was his book, which is supposed to contain some spell to bring him back to life. However, it also may seek revenge on the people of Hogsmeade, who were his intended witch hunt victims at the time of his death.”

McGonagall nodded sagely, understanding dawning on her sharp features. “His spirit blames them for his death and circumstances of his own upbringing, even after all this time.”

Dumbledore smiled wanly. “Yes, I believe so.”

She suddenly looked dismayed. “But why send Severus after the Malleus Maleficarum?”

Dumbledore placed the book back into its cabinet and shut the door with a click. “I believe we may find some answers there to counter some of these haunting activities.” His eyes took on a faraway quality for a moment before he shook himself mentally. “Come, we must speak with Remus. He might be able to shed some more light on what happened last night.”


	4. Evil Revealed

Severus Snape apparated directly inside the front foyer of the Ministry of Magic’s main building. Several witches and wizards glared at him for the rude entrance but he ignored them. He was in no mood for nitpicky formalities such as appearing in front of the building and coming in through the door. His long stride ate up the distance as he hurried to the far end of the huge corridor, toward a door that had peeling paint and a small tarnished brass plaque that read “Ministry Library and Reference”. A few heads poked out of offices to stare at him as he went by, but Snape ignored them.

Snape raised his hand to knock on the door when he was stopped by the loud and forceful voice of the Head Minister, Cornelius Fudge. “Professor Snape, what’s this about an attack on Hogsmeade?”

Snape grumbled under his breath and turned to face the bureaucrat. “I’m not sure, Minister,” he said in his raspy voice. “I am merely here to collect something for Dumbledore - “

“Dumbledore is the protector of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade!” thundered Fudge, ignoring Snape's attempts to placate. "He should have stopped this before it even happened!"

Snape could tell that the politician was working himself into a blustery storm of indignation and sought to quell it so he could get his errand accomplished. "Minister, the headmaster is indeed seeking to put a stop to whatever is going on. He sent me here for special materials to that end. If you keep detaining me, however, he will not get those materials and thus the attacks will continue."

Fudge opened his mouth to bluster some more but snapped it closed, glowering at Snape, who was unimpressed. He'd seen better from immature second years. "Inform him that the Ministry is sending aid to Hogsmeade and we will be evacuating those that wish to leave immediately." The bureaucrat emphasized the last word with a glare at Snape and then turned on his heels, charging back down the corridor and disappearing up a flight of stairs.

Snape puzzled over the need to evacuate Hogsmeade while he explained his errand to the Ministry archivist, who blanched at the idea of anyone needing that particular copy of the Malleus Maleficarum.

"Does Professor Dumbledore have any idea what he's going to do with the Witch's Hammer?" stammered the bookish wizard whose trembling hands were reaching into a small safe and bringing out a wooden box.

"I was not privy to that knowledge," Snape replied with growl. "I only follow orders."

The archivist handed Snape the box as if it were delicate porcelain and shoved his spectacles back up the bridge of his nose. "Tell Professor Dumbledore that this is the only original print copy known to exist that was personally handled by the authors. Its power is magnified when held by someone of magical ability. Many Muggles do not realize that words are often more powerful than any chanted spell merely by the processing of writing and publishing them." The timorous wizard gulped. "He must take special care when the box is opened and the book read. It was always more powerful than even it’s Muggle creators realized." 

Snape nodded, clutching the box tightly so that it would not accidentally slip from his grip and fly open. He wanted nothing to do with the book and the mere idea of it being opened and read by any witch or wizard was enough to turn his stomach. Considering his own checkered and questionable past actions, Severus was certain his uneasiness should be a portend.

Moments later he apparated outside Hogsmeade once more and trekked through the shambled town. The aid that Fudge promised was there already, helping clean up. Snape noted that there seemed to be very few residents packing to leave. He smiled grimly. The townsfolk of Hogsmeade were a sturdy bunch; it would take more than a night raid from some spook to scare them off.

He found Dumbledore and McGonagall both standing in the foyer of the castle. McGonagall’s face was gray and Dumbledore still looked shaken up.

Snape handed the box to the headmaster and wiped his palms on his robes as if to wipe away it's contamination. "I was waylaid by Fudge," he rasped. "He is not happy about whatever happened last night and, as usual, you take the blame."

Dumbledore heaved a sigh. "He is correct this time, Severus, I am to blame." Watery blue eyes twinkled a moment at Snape's skeptical look. "Even I make mistakes, Severus," he continued. "Anything else?"

"The Ministry archivist bids us to take special care with that book," Snape grumbled. "I liked the part he mentioned about not opening it but I know you too well. I would therefore amend his instructions to opening it with strong protection spells and being very careful."

Dumbledore held the box out to his potions master again. "Minerva, the best man for this job is Severus Snape, wouldn't you agree?" McGonagall looked aghast for a moment and then reluctantly nodded.

Snape backed away. "I am not opening that book," he said adamantly with a shake of his head.

The older wizard sighed. "Severus, the students left this morning for the summer break, thankfully. Only the teachers remain to fight this. I need your help. You are an unusual wizard, you know that. Your intelligence goes beyond even your extensive abilities; you think logically and many wizards and witches do not." He smiled briefly. "You above all of us can temporarily think like a Muggle."

Snape stiffened at the last sentence, grabbed the box and stomped away as he spoke. "There is no need to be insulting, Headmaster, about my parentage." He stopped at the stairwell entrance and turned. "What is it I'm looking for?"

"A way to use the Malleus Maleficarum Witch Hammer against Mather's Treaty, Severus. We cannot win through brute strength. We must trap this haunt with his own beliefs."

Snape and McGonagall both shuddered and the Potions Master disappeared around the bend. Dumbledore took note that Snape didn't even have to ask why he was fighting Mather's Treaty. There were some things that Severus seemed to instinctively understand. Dumbledore long since stopped trying to figure out how Severus knew what he knew. Some things even Dumbledore didn't want to know.

* * *

Remus lay in the infirmary bed, going over everything he said earlier to Dumbledore, trying to think of more, remember more to help the man who so often helped him. When the werewolf opened his eyes to find both Dumbledore and McGonagall staring at him, ready to ask him questions about the night before, he’d been startled at the haggardness of Dumbledore’s features. Remus knew Dumbledore was at most 150 years old, but he never looked it before. Dumbledore looked it now and that frightened Remus more than anything. Not even You-Know-Who brought about such an expression on Dumbledore’s face.

Remus played the evening over in his mind.

He went through the change and vaguely recalled impressions of Harry, Ron and Hermione, three students of Gryffindor House who he counted as friends as well as former pupils. He also recalled feeling free; Dumbledore said that they had put him on a leash and took him outside. He could recall snatches of being outdoors and smelling outdoor smells.

Evil. He remembered sensing and smelling an evil. He had been immediately defensive. He remembered that he felt he had to protect the children. Had he attacked the creature that he sensed the evil from? Dumbledore said that he ran into the Forbidden Forest. That wasn’t unusual; Remus had been in the Forest many times before as Moony without problems. What did he run into last night that was different?

With a sigh, Remus closed his eyes tight, shoving his human mind away and concentrating on the wolf senses that lay below the surface, waiting for the moon’s full light to bring them to the fore once more.

It wasn’t solid. Flashes of lunging and biting through a mist came to Remus and he frowned, trying to make a more concrete image in his mind. There was more, he could feel it. A face, a leering face, round and mad suddenly burst into his mind and Remus screamed, terrified by what he saw.

Madam Pomfrey came running in to find Remus struggling out of bed, his normally soft brown eyes hard and wild. He was clearly terrified.

“Sit!” she barked but he ignored her.

“I can remember what it looked like!” he panted frantically. “I need to tell the headmaster! I have to –“

Pomfrey shoved him back down. “I’ll go get him. You’ll stay here and rest!” she snapped, pulling the blankets up to his chin.

Remus struggled to keep the face in his mind so that he wouldn’t forget it as he waited on Dumbledore and Pomfrey. Dumbledore walked into the infirmary briskly and smiled reassuringly at his former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

“Poppy tells me you remembered something new, Remus,” the older wizard said, using his nickname for the school nurse.

Remus nodded vigorously. “Yes, Professor. I can remember the face I saw.” Dumbledore’s eyes lit up and he held up a hand to halt Remus’ description. He called Pomfrey over and murmured at her. She nodded quickly and scurried away.

“Al right, Remus, I want you to take a deep breath and hold the image a few moment’s longer. I’ve called for Professor Vector. He can draw portraits, you know, and I want you to tell him exactly what you saw.” 

Remus nodded, delving inside himself to keep the image fresh in his mind. The wolf’s impressions of the surroundings last night threatened to overwhelm him, but Remus kept them at bay. Professor Vector, a slim wizard who taught Arithmancy, hurried in with a pad of drawing paper and a handful of lead pencils.

“Now Remus, tell Vector what you saw.” As Remus described the face in his mind’s eye, Vector’s hands flew across the page, drawing what Remus spoke of. Occasionally, Vector would hold up his drawing to show him and make the necessary corrections from Remus’ observations. Soon, Remus was satisfied that Vector captured as accurately possibly what Remus could see hovering in his mind.

Dumbledore took the black and white sketch, nodding to himself. “Excellent,” he murmured. “Very excellent.”

Vector smiled, unsure as to what the entire exercise was for, yet he knew that Dumbledore did nothing without a reason. “Glad to have been of service, Remus, Headmaster.” 

“My dear Vector, if you could please assemble the other teachers in the staff room for an announcement it would be appreciated.” Dumbledore was still staring intently at the drawing. “I will be there shortly. I also want you to gather all the ghosts, Peeves included, and have the paintings get the others together in the Potions classroom. Have them meet in Headmaster Hingleton’s study painting. It should be large enough for them all. I’ll speak with them as well.”

Vector gave a sharp nod. “Right away, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore looked back at Remus, who was watching him with wary brown eyes and no expression. “Ah Remus, this is excellent. Now I want you to follow Poppy’s instructions and rest. I may have further need of my former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for the next few nights.” Dumbledore patted the other wizard’s arm comfortingly and left him alone in the infirmary, Pomfrey following. She gave Remus an admonishing command about staying put and quiet before closing the door behind her. 

Remus had no problem with the command. He fell instantly asleep and dreamed of a wolf defending against a hatred more horrible than any the wolf had ever known.


	5. Not Your Everyday Hocus Pocus

The staff room seemed stifled with all the teachers present. Though the school year ended only that morning with the students being bundled onto the Hogwart’s Express for the return trip to London, all the teachers were still around, cleaning up for the summer. The tense chatter about the prior evening’s events ceased the moment the headmaster entered the room. They all sensed his unease and self-recrimination; it comforted them none at all.

"Thank you all for coming," he started, his eyes grave and his fingers nervously running over the back of a chair. "As most of you know, Hogsmeade was attacked by some unknown force last night. It seemed intent on tearing down the village. I cannot go into all the details, but suffice to say, I was responsible for the upkeep of certain things and I have failed in my duties. I now have to make up for my negligence and I wish to recruit your help. Right now, Severus," Dumbledore gestured to the pale-face Potions master, "is doing some research for me. As some of you may have heard, Remus Lupin was attacked in his wolf form last night as well. His descriptions of what attacked him have been extremely useful. I need the rest of you to please volunteer to help me as well. If you cannot, due to other circumstances, I beg you to tell me now."

Not a hand raised and not a word was spoken. The only sound in the room was the breathing of each teacher as they stared at their headmaster. It was clear from their faces they intended to stay.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said humbly.

"What can we do, Professor?" queried a dreamy voice from the back. A spangled hand rose in the air and Professor Sybill Trelawney's large glasses enlarged her eyes as they blinked myopically at him.

"Sybill, I need you to go to your tower and cast your stones. I need you to look back in time as much as you can in your clairvoyance for details of Rufus Mather." There was a sharp intake of breath around the room but Trelawney squared her hunched and bony shoulders and drifted like a ghost from the room. Dumbledore prayed that her rather haphazardly appearing gift would manifest in a helpful manner. A portend of victory would be most gratifying, but Dumbledore didn't hold out much on the hope.

"Vector, Hooch and Sinistra, I need you to go down to Hogsmeade and place the following charms and spells on the town's borders." Dumbledore held up a scrap of parchment with some hastily scribbled spells on it. "Place any special, defensive spells on the areas that border with the Forest that you deem necessary. Every little bit will help, I think." Hooch took the list, nodded to her two assigned companions and they too left the room.

"Madam Sprout and Hagrid, I want you to both go through the Forest along the path to where I found Remus. I want you to find any injured animals and find any plants or wildlife that might have been affected from last night's …er…visitor. See that they are taken care of. If you get that done before dusk, come back to the castle immediately." Hagrid held the door open for the buxom Herbology teacher and soon it was just Dumbledore, Snape, Pomfrey and McGonagall left in the room.

"Poppy, there may be more injuries tonight. I have a feeling that last night was just the beginning. Get together all the supplies you can and enlist Remus' help if you feel he is up to it. Severus, before you go back to your studies, unlock your private stores. Poppy, here is a list of special potions you'll have to brew for possible injuries. Do it in bulk if you can. I don't know how long this fight will last. Hopefully, not long, but I cannot guarantee it." Poppy took another list from Dumbledore.

Both Snape and Pomfrey grimaced but neither raised an objection. The school nurse followed the other teachers out the door, closing it with a firm click behind her.

"Severus, you've been studying the book for an hour. Do you need any particular direction? I know it's not been long but -"

Snape stared down at the floor for a long moment. "I need to know what we are fighting. There are strong words and I can sense deep magic in the Maleficarum, but there's so much to go through…" He took a deep breath. "I cannot give you the defense you need, Headmaster, if I don't know what it is we're fighting."

Dumbledore chewed on the inside of his cheek a moment. "I wish … Devil take it. Lives are at stake, there's no time for dirty little secrets. Do you know the legend of Rufus Mather?" Snape's beetle-black eyes narrowed and he gave a single careful nod. Dumbledore sensed more in that nod than if Snape said anything at all. He sat down and leaned forward to stare at his potions master. "Tell me." 

Snape began to talk, weaving a tale of madness, magic and destruction with precise words and terrifying clarity. Dumbledore and McGonagall listened raptly. Snape always had a gift for storytelling and Dumbledore normally loved to have long talks with Severus because of his great oratory skills, but this time he was disturbed more than he could say.

When Snape finished, Dumbledore regarded him solemnly. His Potions master had known the very secret that Dumbledore thought had been headmaster specific information. "How do you know this, Severus?" he asked gravely and Snape squirmed.

"Being a Death Eater with a keen logical mind, Voldemort set me and a couple others to the task of hunting down legendary objects of power. Mather's Treaty was one of them. I never had the chance to tell him what I found, thankfully, and it is knowledge I'd rather have done without." Snape confessed reluctantly. "It also helps to have a mother from an obsessively research oriented family. She had a wealth of information herself, and I got a good bulk of the family library when the last Prince died."

"Did the other Deatheaters possess this knowledge about the Treaty, Severus?" queried McGonagall tremulously.

He shook his head. "Rosier's dead and I have no idea what he was hunting and Goyle suffered a mild…problem with a memory charm someone," Snape smiled nastily, "accidentally placed on him one evening." He airquoted the word 'accidentally'.

"That someone would be you," McGonagall said with a reluctant grin.

"I cannot confirm nor deny that insinuation, Minerva," Snape informed her, still smiling.

"Good work, Severus, you constantly amaze me with your powers of foresight." Dumbledore was pleased when Snape looked satisfied with the praise. It was well deserved. "I stand by my statement that not all Slytherins are bad seeds like everyone thinks and that your other questionable attributes of deviousness and cunning are always more than helpful." Snape continued to smile, his eyes glittering and his manner now arrogant.

"I will get back to my book learning, then, Headmaster. Now that my own suspicions are confirmed as to what we are dealing with, I can look for more specific aides to our cause." Snape rose and stalked to the door with a purpose, jerking it open and close it with a smmoth decisive motion.

"He constantly amazes me," Dumbledore told his deputy headmistress. She merely raised an eyebrow at him. "If he is still available when you become Headmistress of Hogwarts, I sincerely hope you will keep him on. He is quite probably the most brilliant mind I have ever encountered."

Minerva refrained from comment and instead sniffed in mild disapproval.

"You are the exception to all rules, of course, Minerva," smiled Dumbledore, his face temporarily erased of the pressure he felt at the moment.

"Of course," McGonagall stated matter of factly with another raised eyebrow in her superior's direction.

"I need to speak with the paintings and the ghosts. They will be the castle's defense during this time and they more than likely have plenty of ideas of defending against Mather's spirit." Dumbledore trudged to the door himself.

"What do you want me to do?" asked McGonagall.

"Tonight you will turn into a tabby cat and do some hunting, Minerva. I suggest a nap."

* * *

Snape poured over the musty book in front of him he did not know how long. Time seemed to slip away as he purposefully forced his mind to engross itself in the text. He'd never been very good at history, preferring to look to the future rather than the past, but he knew that history had to be known so he forced himself to work at the task at hand. 'Every great man should know the mistakes of the past, Severus,' he heard his grandfather lecturing him, 'that way he can stop himself from repeating them.' As a young man he really had no desire to be a great man, well respected by his peers; youthful Severus was more interested in the heady rush of power and feeling of superiority from those frightened of him. Alas, he learned his lesson the hard way and seemed doomed to spend the rest of his life atoning for a few years of foolishness and stupidity.

While researching Mather's Treaty for the Dark Lord those years ago, Severus had made himself read the passages of the Bible that witch hunters of hundreds of years ago made their credo. "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live" was foremost on the list and still made him shudder. Its words did more than suggest intolerance and death, despite the King James Version's mistranslation of the original Hebrew. Severus thought the words were ignorant when first written and ignorant now.

"Muggles are such narrow-minded people," he muttered to himself.

As he studied the later parts of the Malleus Maleficarum, the words from the introduction seemed to scroll before his eyes, blocking out the text he was trying to read. The words of the Papal Bull validated his muttered sentence.

"… many persons of both sexes, unmindful of their own salvation and straying from the Catholic Faith, have abandoned themselves to devils, incubi and succubi, and by their incantations, spells, conjurations, and other accursed charms and crafts, enormities and horrid offences, have slain infants yet in the mother's womb, as also the offspring of cattle, have blasted the produce of the earth, the grapes of the vine, the fruits of the trees, nay, men and women, beasts of burthen, herd-beasts, as well as animals of other kinds, vineyards, orchards, meadows, pasture-land, corn, wheat, and all other cereals; these wretches furthermore afflict and torment men and women, beasts of burthen, herd-beasts, as well as animals of other kinds, with terrible and piteous pains and sore diseases, both internal and external; they hinder men from performing the sexual act and women from conceiving, when've husbands cannot know their wives nor wives receive their husbands; over and above this, they blasphemously renounce that Faith which is theirs by the Sacrament of Baptism, and at the instigation of the Enemy of Mankind they do not shrink from committing and perpetrating the foulest abominations and filthiest excesses to the deadly peril of their own souls, whereby they outrage the Divine Majesty and are a cause of scandal and danger to very many."

He couldn't shake the scent of danger that permeated the pages before him and his hands began to shake. Severus slammed the book closed and shoved himself from the small desk where he ensconced himself.

"They do not shrink from committing and perpetrating the foulest abomination and filthiest excesses to the deadly peril of their own souls," Severus recited. He closed his eyes and tried to suppress the shudder of terror that tremored through his body. He was not successful.

The words from the book faded only to be replaced instead by screaming people, not from too long ago. A woman clawed at the robes of a young wizard with a mask that covered his features even in the deep recesses of a black flowing cloak. A bone thin and shaky pale hand clutched a wand and pointed it at the woman. Terse words were said and a flash of green light -

Severus jerked and tumbled from his chair, his breathing laboured and his body cold from the inside out. He raised a hand to his face to rub in warmth there and found his cheeks wet with tears he hadn't known he shed.

He didn't know her name until after the deed had been done. She'd been his parents' neighbour when he was a child. His mind was so shuttered, so closed, he had not recognized her until much, much later.

"Amanda Mills," he murmured. 

Still trembling from head to foot, Severus stood up, swaying slightly on unsteady feet. He squared his shoulders with determination and sneered down at the book that sat on the desk, so innocent looking.

"I know what you're doing," he told it snidely. "It won't work. I've been dealing with those demons for a long time. There is nothing you can do that I haven't lived through once."

Words filtered into his mind, mocking his bravado and causing him to take a surprised step back from the book's resting place. _You didn't have a conscience then._


	6. The Night Shift

Most of the professors of Hogwarts were out of the castle itself and standing at the forest's edge as the sun dropped down below the horizon. Remus Lupin stood with them, having adamantly overruled Madam Pomfrey's instructions to remain bed ridden. "I'm fighting with them," he had told her in a voice banded with steel tones. "Drop it." She reluctantly did so.

Severus Snape too insisted on leaving the castle, despite Dumbledore's entreaties to keep studying the Malleus Maleficarum. "I need a break from that book," he spat and Dumbledore thought for a moment he saw a familiar haunting pain flicker in the pools of black that were Snape's eyes. It was fleeting and Dumbledore wasn't sure he really saw it. He relented however, when Snape too remained stubborn.

Hogsmeade was as protected as the townspeople and the school's teachers could make it. From the physical to the intangible, spells and charms surrounded the town's borders. A charmed and hexed wall of thick vines with reinforced hexed brick as a core blocked the town from the forest's view. How much protection this would be against something as intangible as a spirit like Rufus Mather's, no one knew but everyone agreed every little bit would hopefully help.

The only professor missing from the group was Minerva McGonagall, who fifteen minutes earlier, shifted into her tabby cat form and slunk off into the shadowy depths of the forest. Her task was as dangerous as the others, more so because she was on her own: she was to find the grave of Rufus Mather.

The grave was left unmarked and, according to legend, not given consecration. No priest was allowed near it at the time and no one had been able to find it since. The ghosts of Hogwarts suggested that it be found and perhaps given holy rights to ease the tormented soul. McGonagall's task of following the spook's course was then changed to locating its final resting place.

She had been less than thrilled, but she had squared her shoulders, shifted and disappeared to do her part.

"Are you sure this is going to work, Headmaster?" rasped Snape, his eyes darting about the small group, alert and wary.

"No," said Dumbledore honestly, "but if we can find a way to stop it through our meagre effort I will not quibble." Snape merely grunted in reply, his hand grasping his wand tightly. "We need the time my arrogance did not give us."

"Headmaster," a soft voice drifted from behind the two men and they whirled to face Remus Lupin. The werewolf's face was tense and his amber-yellow eyes were narrowed. His nostrils were flaring. "I can smell him."

Dumbledore was as startled as the rest of the group. "Smell him?" he asked.

Remus nodded his head, a lock of brown hair flopping over an eye. He brushed it back impatiently. "I don't know why. I mean, I know I have extra keen senses because of…well, but I've never smelled something like this before," he finished.

"Where is it coming from?" asked Dumbledore cautiously, gripping his wand tightly.

Remus paused a moment and sniffed again. He frowned and turned in a circle sniffing periodically as he did so. "I think," he said slowly, stopping and facing in the opposite direction, "it's coming from behind us."

Snape and Dumbledore looked at each other in horror. "To the other side of town!" the headmaster bellowed and the teachers spun on their heels to head for the other end of the small village. As they did so, however, the wind began to blow fiercely and a smell so rotten assaulted them that they began to gag even as they ran.

"Gah!" gasped Snape and he pointed his wand at his head. " _Ebullio_!" A bubble encircled his head and he straightened up, his air magically cleansed as he breathed in. The air was a thick haze with the stench and the other teachers were performing similar spells. A small boy ran from one of the houses on the main street, gagging and Snape caught him up.

" _Ebullio_!" he said and his wand, pointed at the child, created a bubble around the boy's small head. Round-eyed, the boy tugged on Snape's hand, pointing to his house.

"My mum and dad!" the boy panted and Snape followed him, breaking off from the group. He saw Lupin running into a house across the street. No doubt his keen hearing heard someone else choking on the noxious smell.

The boy took Snape upstairs and into a large bedroom. The room was in disarray, as if they had been floundering around for air, knocking things off the bedside tables and dressers. Snape performed the Air Bubble spell and after a few moments the parents of the terrified boy were picking themselves off the floor and holding their son tightly.

"Thank you," said the father and Snape nodded, whirling around and clambering back down the stairs. He exited in time to see Lupin come tearing out of the house at a dead run. "There's something wrong," Lupin panted at the potions master, his voice distorted by the internal air-cleansing spell he had used.

"What?" snapped Snape.

Lupin shook his head. "I'm not sure, but I can hear voices on the wind. More than one. It's like," he hesitated as they walked briskly to where the other teachers were gathered at the end of the road, "it's like a chorus of spirits screaming."

A shiver skittered down Snape's spine and, as the two of them joined their peers in the group, Snape chanced a look behind him and involuntarily gasped in horror. Lupin whirled to see what caused his companion's alarm.

The vine wall was bulging.

* * *

McGonagall the cat slunk from tree to tree, her paws delicately moving her small grey and black body over the dead leaves and bark that littered the forest floor. Her animal senses went haywire the moment she set foot in the forest and her unease grew with every step she took. Things were beyond 'not right'; it was terrifyingly disturbing. If she had been a real cat, she would have left a long time ago.

The part that unnerved her most was that she encountered no other creatures; not a bird, a spider, a beetle, a frog. Nothing. It was as if the forest had been cleared of all life. She was the only one foolish enough to enter, let alone stay.

The wind picked up sometime ago and the upper branches of the high trees swayed as the wind moaned through them. Even as low to the ground as she was, Minerva knew she should have been feeling the wind's strength, but not a hair ruffled on her body and not a dead leaf stirred. This only increased her anxiety.

_Witch!_

She froze. A voice cold as the north wind spoke in her mind.

_Demoness!_ it cried at her and her tail bushed in an instinctive reaction. She could feel her hackles rising and her claws extending into the moist ground below her paws.

_Thou shalt suffer for your heresies!_

Without warning the wind blew dirt, dead leaves and debris at her. As the wind reached her, it picked her up as if she rode a cyclone, twirling her around. Her cat mouth issued out screams of panic and fear as the world spun crazily. Her concentration in maintaining her feline form lapsed and she shifted back into her human self.

The wind died down for a moment and she hit the ground hard on her side. Picking herself up, Minerva ran, paying no heed to the direction she was going. The trees got thicker and harder to get through so she shifted back into her tabby cat shape, winding through the obstacles in her path.

The wind picked up again, literally plucking her from the bramble refuge she found, the thorns tearing at her fur and skin as it jerked her upward back into the upper canopy of the forest. Her yowl of terror burst over the howl of the wind and the psionic laughter of her tormenter echoed in her mind.

Her body was flung by trees so quickly they blurred and when she inevitably crashed into one, she reached out with her claws and sunk them as deeply as she could into the bark. By some force she knew not, she clung to that tree for dear life, defying the being that sought to dislodge her as it threw debris from the forest floor up at her.

After what seemed like an eternity, the wind ebbed and finally just died away, leaving the forest eerily quiet and still. Hesitantly, Minerva began to manoeuvre back down to the bottom of the tree. There, at the base, she found a hole in the tree trunk and crammed herself inside. The purring rumble in her chest comforted her into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

Dumbledore felt a tug on his robes. "Headmaster, we can't do this much longer," panted his charms professor. Flitwick looked as if he'd been put through a whirlwind. His hair stuck up in all direction and objects that Dumbledore didn't want to contemplate smeared his robes and exposed skin. Dumbledore was certain the defenders all looked the same.

"I know, Filius," the headmaster replied, pursing his lips. "It will be dawn in a couple of hours. We have to hold on a bit longer." Flitwick nodded wearily and turned to blast some gruesome apparition that swooped down upon him, spitting fire.

The small village of Hogsmeade had been through what amounted to a small tornado. If it had looked ramshackle from the previous evening's attack, it looked downtrodden now. With only a couple hours left til daylight cracked through the darkness, everyone could only wait for whatever was coming next.

A frog croaked nearby, chorused by several more, the leftover by-product of a flood of frogs that had swarmed them a few hours previous. When Professor Sinistra walked back, absently scratching her back in a vigorous manner, Dumbledore began to harbour grave suspicions.

"Cassandra," he said, halting her progress toward Professor Vector, "come here." The bewildered professor did as she was bid and Dumbledore jerked down the collar of her robes to reveal a bluish-tinged rash on the back of her neck. Further examination, and itching by the other teachers, confirmed Dumbledore's suspicion.

"Lice."

There was a groan, but from who Dumbledore could not discern.

"He's bringing down the plagues upon us?" asked an incredulous Trelawney, scratching her head nervously.

"It would seem so." Dumbledore itched his head involuntarily.

Snape seemed resigned as he scratched and muttered, "Wonderful. What's next? Flies? Locusts? The lake turns to blood?"

"Don't give the lunatic any ideas," grumbled Professor Sprout, scratching under her robes.

Lice seemed to be the last thing the inhabitants of Hogsmeade were to be subjected. Dawn broke over the horizon and the town of Hogsmeade breathed a collective sigh of relief. The teachers assured themselves that the villagers were unharmed and could clean up any lingering effects themselves, before trudging back up to the castle.

The old stone fortress looked unharmed and Peeves the Poltergeist, snapping a smart salute to them as they entered the main foyer, informed them that the evening had been a quiet one. One by one, the professors cleaned themselves of lingering lice and went to bed, falling into an exhausted sleep.


	7. A Posse Ad Esse (From Possiblity to Realization)

The next morning found Severus Snape with his nose buried in the Malleus Maleficarum well before breakfast. He'd risen a mere two hours after lying down, unable to sleep much. The headmaster stumbled into the Great Hall to sit at the head of the small table now gracing the huge room instead of the large group of tables when the students were in residence.

He frowned at the potions master, who was ignoring him.

"Severus," he admonished. "Did you sleep at all this morning?" Snape shook his head but said nothing, frowning intensely at whatever it was he was reading. "Have you eaten?" There was an absent nod but again no speech. "Well, that's something at least," Dumbledore said in a disgruntled tone.

"Who - what? I'm sorry, Headmaster," Snape said distractedly, bringing his hooked nose up from the musty pages. "Did you say something?"

Dumbledore heaved a sigh and shook his head, the white hair ruffling over his shoulders. "No, Severus, pray continue your reading." Snape snorted and did as he was bid without much effort. Dumbledore eyed him curiously as he buttered toast.

One by one the other Hogwarts instructors entered the Great Hall in various states of wakefulness and dress. House elves appeared, looking slightly worse for wear themselves. It was a sign of how tired the occupants of Hogwarts were when the house elves showed themselves when serving, but then they were always less formal when it was just the teachers in residence.

Utensils had been clinking on plates for several minutes before Dumbledore began paying any attention to his companions.

"Where's Minerva?" he asked a tiny female house elf pouring him some more pumpkin juice. "Still in bed?"

"We not seen Professor McGonagall this morning, Headmaster," squeaked the house elf in a high soprano.

The humans in the room froze and even Snape's eyes stopped moving over the page. Those black orbs lifted to meet Dumbledore's widened blue ones. In one smooth motion, the potions master closed the book and stood up. Without saying a word, he strode from the hall and out the door. There was no doubt where he was going.

The rest of the room turned to stare at the stricken headmaster, whose head began to sag until it tilted back in dejection. Dumbledore doubted he'd forgive himself if he sent Minerva to her death.

* * *

Severus stood quivering on the edge of forest. He was spooked already from reading the passages in the Malleus Maleficarum dealing with the forcing of confessions from witches. Standing by the forest that housed the thing that they spent the entire night fighting didn't help his already frayed nerves any. Yet McGonagall was out there somewhere, possibly injured. Severus admired the stalwart woman and was determined to bring her back safely.

Putting one foot determinedly in front of the other he forced himself down the path that wound through the trees. Birds twittered and a slight breeze whistled through the leafy branches. All seemed normal and peaceful, belying the disturbing stillness of the last evening. Severus wasn't sure if he was looking for a black and grey tabby cat or a woman a several decades older than he, but he kept his eyes open and his hearing keen for any sound remotely human or feline.

He had no idea how long he walked through the forest, straying off the path in areas he was acquainted with from previous trips for potions ingredients. His uneasiness grew the deeper he went and just when Snape was beginning to despair of finding her, he heard a sound distinctly McGonagall.

"Oh, bother!" The exclamation was filled with self-disgust and a slight trace of anxiety.

"Minerva?" he called out.

There was a pregnant pause.

"Severus? Severus, is that you?"

Snape turned to his left where McGonagall's relieved voice came to him. "Follow my voice to the path."

"I'm that close?" She sounded disgruntled. She stepped from behind several trees a slight distance away and walked briskly to him. "For the love of…" Her voice trailed off and her lips pursed. "I want to go home." Her voice had a distinct whiny quality to it.

Severus agreed with a comforting murmur, taking in her battered appearance. Dirt and grass hung from the long strands of unkempt dark hair normally in a tight bun. Her robes were torn and shredded. Her hands and other exposed skin areas were abraded and bruised.

"Looks like you've had an adventure," he commented blandly.

"You have no idea," she growled in a distinctly feline manner.

"I might have a small idea," he told her and began relating their battle at Hogsmeade. Her eyes grew round as he talked and they walked. When he finished, she began explaining the wind and her fight to stay on the ground.

"He spoke to me, Severus," Minerva said with a shudder.

He stared at her. "What?" he gasped, stunned.

"He called me a witch," she began.

"Which you are," Snape pointed out with a grin.

"Then he called me a demoness!" Minerva looked outraged. Snape refrained from comment on that point. "Then he said something about I would pay for my…my heresy."

Severus looked thoughtful. "Hmmm. Heresy. Yes…" Snape's black eyes widened as he had an epiphany. "Of course!" He smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Come." He grabbed her hand and pulled her into a run out of the forest, speeding past a bleary-eyed Hagrid, who had just exited his small cabin.

"Glad yer alright, Professor McGonagall!" called out Hagrid.

"Hagrid, to the castle," barked Snape without even pausing to stop or call over his shoulder. Hagrid's heavy footsteps mingled with those of his boarhound Fang as they pelted behind the two professors.

Snape burst through the castle doors, still dragging a panting McGonagall behind him.

"Headmaster!" he shouted. Dumbledore came shooting out of the Great Hall, the other teachers hot on his heels. "I have it!"

"Severus?" queried the headmaster. "Minerva! Are you alright?" He hurried over to the deputy headmistress and began examining her. Madam Pomfrey brushed him aside and sat Minerva down on a small bench in the foyer, quickly giving the injured witch a once over.

"I know how we can get rid of this blasted haunt." Snape's eyes were glittering with triumph.

"How?" asked Flitwick.

"The ghosts had the right of it. The haunt told Minerva last night that she would pay for her heresy. If we consecrate his grave, he cannot haunt us anymore. Witch hunters believed we were heretics, disbelievers of the one true God." He managed to keep a sneer from his words as he did so, but it was still heavily hinted. "We need to find a wizard or witch who is a member of the clergy, any clergy, or has a family member in the clergy."

"And?" prompted McGonagall in confusion. She frowned and flinched when Pomfrey found a particularly sore spot in her ministrations.

"He seems to be able to sense people with magical ability," pointed out Snape. "If he senses a member of a Christian order consecrating his grave that has magical ability -" Snape shrugged. "Well, let's just say, it would put me in a twist if I were him."

"But will it stop him?" asked Flitwick skeptically.

Severus grinned evilly. "I'm not certain if it will block him from coming to his grave for the light of day to finish him off or if it pull him to it and lock him away permanently. Personally, either way works for me. The way to defeat this self-righteous ghostly prat," he practically chuckled, "is to fight fire with fire. Use his own belief against him."

Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "Did you find his grave, Minerva?"

She shook her head and related to the others what had happened to her the night before. "I am more than willing to try again," she informed him with squared shoulders and a resolute expression.

"Severus, get to that book. Find me passages that I can use against Mather's spirit. I haven't been before a pulpit in many years but I may need to brush up on my oratory skills in that sense." Dumbledore turned around quickly and strode toward his office. "Minerva, you will indeed go back again tonight but with a few more defenses on you. We'll charm you to practical imperviousness and send you in earlier than usual, from the other end of the forest. I have a feeling that he sensed you on his way to Hogsmeade. Perhaps if you come from another direction and catch him on the way back you'll stand a better chance."

McGonagall heaved a sigh but nodded her agreement. "Very well, I'm going to get some breakfast and go to bed."

"An excellent idea, but you'll do it after I've seen to these abrasions, Minerva," Madam Pomfrey informed her. Minerva looked to where Snape was standing and found him gone.

No doubt he'd gone back to his studies.

* * *

Snape had never been so happy his mother forced him to learn Latin as if it were his native language. While this didn’t help often in the scheme of things, on rare occasions, like trying to read the Malleus Maleficarum, it came in useful. There were three parts to the Maleficarum and Snape was struggling to get through it all to find what Dumbledore needed to fight fire with fire, so to speak. He had a general idea now of what to look for but that didn't make things any easier.

"Something that will pose as a distraction," Snape murmured as he flipped page after page. "Something preferably that will cause some anguish as well, just for extra measure. Something," grinned Severus, "that will brass him off."


	8. Injuria Non Excusat Injuriam (One Wrong Does Not Justify Another)

Nightfall came too early for everyone but with McGonagall in the forest and the teachers once again standing resolute with the residents of Hogsmeade, there wasn't much else to be done except hope McGonagall succeeded this time. The castle too had 'batten down the hatches', with ghosts patrolling the corridors and the paintings keeping an eye out in each other's frame's for the features of Rufus Mather as described by Remus Lupin and drawn by Professor Vector.

Darkness fell and once again a disturbing silence hushed the forest. Standing outside The Three Broomsticks, the professors waited for the coming assault. All remained quiet. When one hour, then two passed, residents began congregating with them, murmuring quietly.

"Has it gone?"

"Maybe something happened to McGonagall?"

"Do you think it only can come out for a couple of days?"

"Maybe someone dug him up?"

Speculation ran rampant but they needed not have fretted. Mather's spirit made its presence known shortly after midnight.

* * *

Minerva's lithe cat form flitted from tree to tree much in the same manner as she did the evening before. More wary and definitely more protected by spells and charms, she prepared herself for anything.

There was no wind, there was no howling. There was also, as the night before, no animals stirring in the trees and brush of the forest. As she moved, Minerva kept her senses alert for anything that could lead her in the direction she needed to go.

The waning moon hung high overhead, giving a little light and casting long shadows on the ground. After a couple of hours Minerva sat down beneath a shrub and puzzled over the spook's lack of activity. Was it possible that it wouldn't be coming out this night? She almost turned around and went back when the wind began to bluster. She backed up further under the shrub and waited to be tossed in the air like a feather, but it never happened.

The wind blew, the branches of trees above her creaked and a hideous howling assaulted her ears but nothing happened to her physically. The wind seemed to blow out, or away, and she hesitantly crept out of her hiding place. Even more puzzled than before, she began chasing after the wind, stopping a short way away and finding another tree trunk to hide within until the wind returned.

* * *

"Have I mentioned I hate bugs?" choked Lupin as he spat locusts from his mouth as they crawled all over the people and animals of Hogsmeade. "I really, really hate bugs."

No one said anything to this comment but Snape actually placed a companionable hand on the werewolf's shoulder, brushing off several grasshoppers as he did so. Remus gave Snape a small smile and muttered, " _Incendio_!" Piles of grasshoppers burst into flames around him as he pointed his wand at them and muttered the word over and over.

Locusts hadn't been the first assault but so far they were definitely the worst. Most of the humans would have preferred the frogs back; if anything they would have eaten the grasshoppers. Only a few minutes earlier they were attempting to keep their footing as a huge gust of wind blew through the small village, pulling up shingles and tossing the lighter weight residents off their feet.

After an hour, the last of the grasshoppers were either blasted into nothingness or had hopped out of town to plague the countryside beyond. Everyone waited for the next attack. It was a long time in coming.

* * *

Peeves sensed something wrong first, still manning his post in the front foyer and Great Hall. When it was truly important, the poltergeist could usually be counted on. He turned his patrol into a game, darting between the wall hangings and tables as if stalking an enemy. He never seriously believed that Mather would dare attack Hogwarts itself.

That would have been a wrong assumption.

_Foul beast!_ screamed a voice, startling Peeves off his chandelier perch.

"Who be there?" he snarled, his normally mischievous, twinkling eyes suddenly glowing a demonic red. "If you are trying to get in here, Rufus Mather, we will stop you, yes we will."

The foyer of the castle's entrance filled immediately with white and wispy figures. Several ghosts that normally had nothing to do with the living residents of Hogwarts barricaded the front doors and nothing Mather tried broke through them. The spook then attempted to go through the walls, only to find them imperviable by spells so strong that not even the resident ghosts could pass through them.

Insane with anger, Mather's spirit howled and raged, battering at the towers and shattering windows around the castle, but found his way blocked each time by the dead inhabitants of the castle. The owls in the owlery, disturbed and terrified, hooted and screeched, putting up an awful racket that drove Mather from their small tower.

None of the ghosts paid attention to the time and were startled to discover that the night was almost passed when the haunt finally retreated from his failed attempt to shake Hogwarts to its foundation. They silently stood sentinel as the wind that was Mather blew back down the hill, over the calm lake and back to Hogsmeade.

As if throwing a tantrum and intent on having the last word despite it's failure, Mather's windy spirit gassed the town one last time. It howled in anger when the wizards and witches merely filtered out his foul stench without any lingering affects or fright, unlike the night before. The wind disappeared into the forest's dark recesses.

All that was left of the evening’s end was to know whether or not McGonagall would find where Mather’s mortal body lay.

* * *

The wind returned just as dawn was breaking. It blew past Minerva, who was half-asleep in her tree trunk. It’s howling startled her into full wakefulness and she immediately pelted after it. Her soft paws moved soundlessly over the ground, keeping her pursuit surprisingly unnoticed.

The wind stopped screaming right in front of her. She burst into a small circle of trees surrounding a bare patch of ground. It was bare of grass and debris and Minerva's cat senses went haywire, screaming danger and evil. She waited until the sun rose completely before shifting into her normal self. She pulled her wand from her robes and shot repeated balls of colored light into the sky above until she was joined by Dumbledore, Snape, Hagrid, and Lupin.


	9. Finalis Concordia (The Final Argument)

After a few hours sleep Hogsmeade sprang into action. With the location of Mather’s resting place found, arrangements had to be made before the next nightfall. Madam Rosmerta confessed she had a Muggle bishop in her family and within a few hours he was safely ensconced with all the things he’d need in a nice room at The Three Broomsticks. The other residents of Hogsmeade moved themselves directly into the Hogwarts castle, chattering tiredly yet with more hope than they had shown in several days. With a plan in motion, everyone’s spirits had risen.

Severus Snape drug himself from the library, heavily laden with the Malleus Maleficarum tucked under one arm and notes and suggestions tucked under the other. He plopped everything down next to Dumbledore at the lunch table and glowered at him.

“Here,” the potions master said with an arched eyebrow. “I suggest that it’s your turn to study. You’re going to need it.”

Dumbledore stared nonplussed at the mound next to his goblet of pumpkin juice and then looked up at his potions master, who was now seating himself and tearing hungrily into a large piece of chicken. “Severus,” the headmaster said hesitantly. “All of this?”

Snape nodded. He finished chewing before pointing at the papers with his fork. “The notes are passages within the Maleficarum that you can use to,” Snape hesitated, his eyes taking on a nasty gleam, “taunt Mather. Since you’re serving as the main attraction while we do the dirty work behind the scenes, you might say, I found some powerful passages. Keep in mind that the book is one contradiction after another and there are holes in it that would make a lawyer swoon with glee. The authors left out information here and there, or were so far off the mark it would be humorous if the subject matter weren't so horrifying."

Dumbledore flipped through several of the pages that Snape noted and the grin that spread beneath his white beard could have been considered evil if it had been on someone other than Albus Dumbledore. “Perfect, Severus, just perfect. I shall indeed study these this afternoon. I shall also go over my Bible studies as well. Every little bit of ammunition will help.”

“Just remember,” said Lupin down the table a bit, cutting up a pot roast. “You only have to keep Mather’s attention on you. If he comes back to his…ground of interment we could be in a lot of trouble.”

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes still reading through the notes Snape had given him.

“Fight fire with fire,” he murmured. Snape only grunted.

Night again came too soon for anyone’s comfort, but they felt more prepared than they had in any of the other encounters. Rosmerta’s bishop cousin stood on the other side of the forest where McGonagall entered the night before with the other professors. In their hands were crosses, holy water, salt, incenses, and the Litany from which the bishop would read. Everyone had their wands secure in the pockets of their robes.

Just in case.

As the sun sank down past the horizon they waited for the wind to howl through the forest. Like the night before it was a long time in coming, well past one in the morning by Lupin’s wristwatch this time. McGonagall re-emerged from the forest, having shifted back to human form before the bishop could see her. She had gone into the forest as a lookout and now she gave the all clear.

Together the group trod as carefully and silently as they could through the eerily black forest. The waning moon was still bright, though almost half gone. There was enough left to adequately illuminated their way. They reached the small clearing and paused, listening for the return of the spirit wind, but they were not accosted.

Under the bishop’s direction, they began to set-up for the consecration and blessing of Mather’s resting place.

* * *

Dumbledore had been to America and visited a ghost town in the state of Colorado once. The town didn’t have any resident ghosts but had been eerily empty, looking as though anyone could move in and make it come alive once more. That was how Hogsmeade seemed to him now.

He heard Mather’s wind before he felt it. Gripping the Malleus Maleficarum tightly in his grip, Dumbledore waited. The windows in the houses and shops rattled and debris from the forest blew around him, but he was untouched, unharmed. His own protective spells saw to that.

The wind stopped blowing abruptly and for a moment Dumbledore feared it had returned to its place of origin. A luminous cloud began to suddenly roil around him and a face became discernable in its orangey depths.

_You face me alone this time, heretic!_ Mather's voice moaned at him in fiendish glee.

“I am not the only heretic in this village, Rufus Mather. See the powers that you use? They are an abomination to God as well.” Dumbledore said the words calmly but with force of conviction. It was his ‘pulpit voice’, as his brother Aberforth called it. In his youth, Albus had been a minister of his local parish. He forsake his ‘calling’ when he decided he was better suited to keeping true to his magical roots. He now called forth everything he remembered from his much younger days so long ago.

Mather was enraged at the words. _I am not a heretic! I uphold the word of our heavenly father and he shall –_

Dumbledore flipped open the Malleus Maleficarum almost lazily, causing the gaseous haunt to halt in mid sentence. It was obvious Mather’s spirit recognized the powerful book in Dumbledore’s hands.

“That devils and their disciples can by witchcraft cause lightnings and hailstorms and tempests, and that the devils have power from God to do this, and their disciples do so with God's permission, is proved by Holy Scripture in Job I and II.”

Mather screamed in protest and began spouting Biblical quotes in return.

_When thou art come into the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee, thoust shalt not learn to do after the abominations of those nations. There shall not be found among you any that maketh his son or his daughter to pass through the fire, or that useth divination, or an observer of times, or an enchanter, or a witch. Or a charmer, or a consulter with familiar spirits, or a wizard or a necromancer. For all that do these things are an abomination unto the Lord: and because of these abominations the Lord thy God doth drive them out from before thee!_

Dumbledore was unperturbed and quoted, “There are three classes of men blessed by God, whom that detestable race cannot injure with their witchcraft.” He paused and skipped a couple of paragraphs. “The second are those who, according to the traditional and holy rites of the Church, make lawful use of the power and virtue which the Church by her exorcisms furnishes in the aspersion of Holy Water, the taking of consecrated salt, the carrying of blessed candles on the Day of the Purification of Our Lady, of palm leaves upon Palm Sunday, and men who thus fortify themselves are acting so that the powers of devils are diminished; and of these we shall speak later.” He paused for another breath and read a passage further down again, as Severus had directed. “The reason in the case of the second class of men is self-evident. For the exorcisms of the Church are for this very purpose, and are entirely efficacious remedies for preserving oneself from the injuries of witches. “ Dumbledore paused, looked up with a smile and tilted his head to one side. “Tell me, Mather, were you blessed and believed in your blessing to the root of your very soul, so that when you stand before judgement, you will be cleansed of all sins?”

Were he alive, Mather's mouth no doubt would have dropped open in shock. There was an uncomfortable silence before Mather began to yammer on once more.

* * *

The holy water was sprinkled; salt circled the area and the five crosses placed in key point of the small grove clearing. The bishop took a deep breath, crossed himself and began to speak.

Snape didn’t listened to the words; his senses were trained on the quiet around them. He was waiting for Mather to interrupt. He hoped the headmaster could keep the maniac busy long enough for the rite of consecration and blessing to finish. He’d neglected to ask how long it would take.

* * *

Dumbledore was thinking much the same thing as passage after passage from both the Bible and the Maleficarum was tossed back and forth. When Mather began quoting his Treaty, Dumbledore was ready for him there too.

_And from the bowls of hell, ye shall be revealed!_ thundered the disembodied voice. _And the lost lambs of God shall be punished for their sins. Those who were weak in their faith in the Lord and defeated by Satan's denizens of Hell shall be redeemed only through the cleansing fire-_

Dumbledore shouted over Mather’s righteous fervour a long passage from the Apocrypha finishing with a flourishing, “They took for themselves, they and all the others with them, took themselves wives, and each chose for himself one. They began to come upon them and cleaved to them and taught them magic and witchcraft and they taught them to cut roots and plants.” He spoke of the angel, Shemhazai and his tribe of angels that left Heaven to live among men, taking mortal women as their mates.

Mather again seemed to be momentarily stumped.

Dumbledore smiled to himself. It was working.

* * *

Lupin handed the last piece of the blessing right to the bishop who droned on through his memorized litany. It was almost completed and then they would see if their trick actually worked. Lupin half-believed it would, half-believed it wouldn’t. He also had been wondering, and was afraid to ask, what the other headmasters of Hogwarts had done to keep the spirit at bay that Dumbledore did not do. He supposed it was a moot point now.

The bishop went silent and everyone turned to him.

“I am finished,” he said in a low tone.

They waited.

What they were expecting to happen they knew not, but whatever it was didn’t occur. In fact, nothing occurred.

“Now what?” snapped Snape peevishly. Everyone looked around apprehensively.

“It must not have worked,” worried Trelawney, twisting the bangles on her wrist nervously.

Everyone tensed. “What will we do now?” asked McGonagall tersely.

Everyone looked to the bishop, who'd gone as white as his robes. “Well, we can try this,” he informed them and took the jar of holy water from Sinistra. Unceremoniously he began to toss handfuls of the water all over the ground around them. “Try the salt as well,” he told Flitwick. Hands delved into the jar of consecration salt and began liberally sprinkling it all over the open ground.

* * *

Mather was screaming quotes from his treaty, the force of his ire whipping Dumbledore’s robes about him. Dumbledore held up the Malleus Maleficarum directly in front of him, reciting passages of punishing those using God’s abilities for their own uses. Any witnesses would have likened the headmaster to Moses, standing on Mount Sinai, reading aloud the tablets containing the Ten Commandments.

There was a deafening roar from Mather and Dumbledore glanced up at the haze surrounding him to see Mather’s spectral feature contorted in pain. The graveside ritual was finally working. Good, he’d been running out passages.

The spectral haze lost its features and began whirling and roiling in the air. Hisses and moans emitted from it and the windy gales returned. Dumbledore slammed the Malleus Maleficarum shut and tossed it negligently on the ground as the wind gusted away back to the forest. Dumbledore was right behind it, wand drawn and features cold.

The professors and bishop heard the wind howling toward them and immediately finished tossing water and salt everywhere. They crowded together in a protective circle with the bishop in the middle clutching his cross like a lifeline. The trees shuddered and they could hear several of them crashing to the ground.

The screaming grew so loud that they were clamping their hands over their ears in a vain effort to block it. The fierce wind blew around them in a circular pattern, blowing their robes about crazily and making them lose their balance, leaning into each other for mutual support.

“Look!” cried Lupin, who’d risked a glance to see what was going on. He, like the others, had clamped his eyes shut to keep the grit and dirt from the wind from getting in his eyes.

Everyone’s eyes popped open and they gaped at the scene before them. The wind had whirled itself into a tight conical shape, spinning madly in the center of the clearing. Dumbledore could be seen shoving his way through the trees, avoiding madly swaying branches.

The conical shape grew smaller and smaller as if sinking into the ground, pulled by a force it could not fight.

“It's working!” crowed Snape triumphantly.

Mather was still determined to have the last word, however. Lightning arched from the sky and hail rained down upon them, as big as bludgers. The professors ran for cover, whipping out protective spells as they did so. Snape turned to the headmaster just in time to see lightning strike the old wizard directly.

“No!” screamed Snape in maddened terror. He shoved past little Flitwick and ran straight across the newly consecrated ground toward the fallen Headmaster, ignoring the calls of stop from the everyone.

As soon as the potions master’s feet touch the grave he was whirled into the miniature storm and flung up and out over several trees, landing with a sickening thud just a few meters from Dumbledore’s slightly smoking body.

Lupin skirted the clearing and headed directly for Snape; McGonagall was right behind him and heading for Dumbledore. They turned to the storm in time to see it sizzle into the ground with one last agonized wail. The other professors met up with McGonagall and Lupin, and the two fallen teachers’ vitals were checked. Unconscious, the spells and charms placed on each had saved them from death but they would be hurting considerably when they regained consciousness.

The walk back to the castle was a long one yet even despite their injured peers, the professors were starting to feel light-hearted. It was still a couple hours until dawn and Mather seemed to be permanently interred now.

They had won.

* * *

McGonagall and Dumbledore placed a new password on the passage in the headmaster’s office. Mather’s Treaty was placed back into its box, charmed with every lock spell they could find, and placed in the lock-charmed cabinet. Dumbledore learned his lesson and McGonagall learned from it as well.

Hogsmeade’s residents spent a week putting their little town back to rights. The professors, a few days behind schedule of taking their own summer break, got their affairs in order and left with words of good-bye to each other. Snape remained behind, as he always did. Dumbledore caught the potions master and Lupin in deep conversation one morning over breakfast about some dark arts material; it seemed some differences could be gotten past when two people were united against a common foe.

A small blurb concerning the incident was printed in the Daily Prophet. It made no mention of how the problem was resolved, merely that the professors at Hogwarts helped the Hogsmeade residents to defeat the unknown attacker. The matter was left alone even by the Ministry, for which everyone was thankful. Snape ensconsed himself into his personal library and resolved to be a bit more learned in his history, no matter how boring it became. Apparently, it was practical in the use and misuse of magic. When one was gearing up for a battle with a dark wizard, one should probably have an arsenal quivering with arrows, even if one didn't use them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a theologian by any means, and I’m not exactly boned up on my Biblical passages and whatnot. In fact, most of the passages used from the Bible are probably taken out of context but they suited the purpose I needed so I’m going to leave it at that. The passages quoted from the Malleus Maleficarum are true passages. I want to acknowledge www.MalleusMaleficarum.org for putting this influential historical document out on the Internet. Reading through it (which was difficult) was quite the eye opener. I knew some of the methods of witch persecution but had never had a chance to read through the tome that was considered (and is still considered among more radical sects) as the definitive work on locating, persecuting and punishing heretical so called “witch” offenders.
> 
> I took liberty with Albus Dumbledore’s background. Hopefully it offends no one. As a pagan myself, it certainly did not offend me. I am hoping that I don’t come off anti-Christian with this work, because that is farthest from the truth. I’m American; key in my country is ‘freedom of religion’ – as far as I’m concerned that would be any religion.
> 
> I should also explain something about Lupin’s part in this. I started with him in it and then didn’t explain why he was at Hogwarts if he wasn’t teaching. I combed through the story once finished trying to find someplace to put the explanation in, but each place I tried made it seem awkward. So for those of you asking, “Why was Remus there if he wasn’t teaching?” here’s your answer: My thought was that since this takes place after Book 5 (which hasn’t come out yet at the time of this writing), perhaps Sirius is off doing something else. Since Remus is supposedly hopeless at potions, he travelled to Hogwarts to have more wolf bane potion made, as he used the last of his supply. Dumbledore merely talked him into staying the rest of the month and shifting on the full moon within the safety of the Hogwarts grounds. It might seem a bit thin an excuse, but eh. What the hey.


End file.
